


Tails of the Blackout

by Izzygrace07



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Amnesia, Hospitals, M/M, Multi, Muteness, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recovered Memories, Tags May Change, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzygrace07/pseuds/Izzygrace07
Summary: Luke is found by Ashton on the beach of Eurong, Queensland with no clothes, little memory, and an inability to speak.Harry wakes up in the hospital with no memories, his only comfort being Louis, the man who claims to be his best friend.The duos cross paths in Urangan, home to some of the most beautiful beaches in the country, they learn of Australia's grand merfolk stories and their sightings along the shores.As they all grow closer together, Luke and Harry's memories begin to return to them, and for the first time, they experience what it is like to truly be afraid of your own body, and may have their perceptions of fiction and reality altered forever.EDIT: This seems like way too soon to declare this, but I'm putting a pause on this story. I need to reassess exactly what's happening here, because I don't want a story full of plot holes and have no moral or theme to be found. I'll come back to this once I figure out exactly what I want to do with this.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Luke

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lyrics In A Bottle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952165) by [ahyperactivehero (ahyperactiverhero)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahyperactiverhero/pseuds/ahyperactivehero). 
  * Inspired by [A Ticket to Another World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458886) by [lovealways1990](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovealways1990/pseuds/lovealways1990). 
  * Inspired by [remember me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7752280) by [epilogues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epilogues/pseuds/epilogues). 
  * Inspired by [The Waves Are Ours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17965892) by [JetBlackSunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetBlackSunshine/pseuds/JetBlackSunshine). 
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [girlpearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpearl/pseuds/girlpearl). Log in to view. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half of you wanted a Lashton fanfiction for the Mermaid AU. Half of you wanted a Larry fanfiction for the Mermaid AU. Why not do both?

He awakens to a light unlike any other, his body shaking.

Upon opening his eyes, Luke is surprised to see a blurry pair staring back at him, a glistening hazel that draws him in effortlessly. Black hair falls over tanned skin, shading the handsome wrinkles that peer out between each stray strand. Luke can't help but stare in awe at the face that looms over him, shielding him from the beating sun. He blinks slowly, letting the rest of his vision focus, and is dumbstruck from seeing such gorgeous features so clearly.

The man breathes out heavily, relieved. "Finally. God mate, I thought you were dead or somethin'." He runs a hand through his hair, slicking the roots with sweat, as he leans back on his feet, sitting just to Luke's side. Luke takes note of the man's navy blue togs, as well as the black shirt with a white island highlight on the chest. It clings wet to his chest, outlining his skinny frame. "You okay? Your leg is sliced."

Luke glances down at his naked body and sees the three slashes along his upper right leg, dried blood running down towards the sand. It's no longer bleeding, but the sight is startling all the same. He tenses his body and shifts slightly, feeling for pain. Nothing else is in terrible pain. After a moment, he nods his head, looking back up at the stranger.

"Good, good," the man says. He takes off his shirt in a hurry and stretches out the neck, releasing a symphony of breaking threads. It is thrust in Luke's direction, landing on his stomach. "Put this on around your waist. I know a skirt ain't ideal, but it's the best I got."

Luke picks it up as he brings himself to a sitting position. He unfolds it, shaking off any sand that may have gotten on it, and nods. A hand is offered to him, pulling him to a wobbly stand. He falls into the man, only to be caught by a secure grip on his shoulders.

"Woah, easy there, mate," they mumble, giving Luke a concerned glare.

Over the man's shoulder, he is captivated by the sight of rolling waves and a blue sky. White foam dances across the top of the water, riding its way to the golden sand of the shore. The scent of salt and sea life fills his nose. Above it all, clouds inch their way through the atmosphere, complimenting the powerfully shining sun. Luke's mouth falls agape, taking in the art that presents itself. It gives him a sense of nostalgia he had never known previously, and he wants nothing more than to freeze time on this moment forever.

"You good?" he hears, snapping him out of his trance. Luke blinks, nodding his head, and steps back, shaking out the shirt in his hands. On unsteady feet, the stranger supporting him under one of his arms, he steps through the neck of the black shirt. He pulls it up roughly over his boney hips and ties the short sleeves together in the front. When he looks up for the man's approval, he is pleased to see a sideways smile on their face.

"Lookin' good," he compliments, nodding with raised eyebrows. After scanning Luke's body, he holds out his hand. "Name's Ashton."

Luke opens his mouth and says, "—." He furrows his eyes, thoroughly confused. He's always been able to speak, at least to his knowledge. He tries again, only to unleash a torrent of hacks and wheezes, pulling his hand away from Ashton to cough into his arm. Doubling over, he massages his throat.

Ashton places a hand on his back, bending down to be on his level. "Hey, you okay?"

Luke nods, stands up straight, and attempts to speak once more, only for a high-pitched squeak to sound from his vocal chords. His eyes widen and he turns his head to Ashton fearfully, his hand lingering around his lips. 

Ashton's eyebrows lower in thought. "Your voice is shot?" Luke nods, frowning. He thinks back, attempting to recall the events that led him to here, but is met with uncertain fog. There is nothing that he can surely say is factual in his memory because everything he remembers is too hazy to be taken as such. He blinks, rubbing his eyes as a headache begins to form. Never would he have thought that his own mind would terrify him as much as it does now.

"Can you tell me where you live?" Ashton inquiries, quirking an eyebrow. Luke shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak, only to remember he can do no such thing. Instead, he taps gently on his temple, then waves his hand dismissively.

It takes a moment for Ashton to translate the lazily-performed gestures, but he seems to understand. "...Oh. Sorry, I didn't know. Um…" He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Do you know your name?"

Luke nods his head, and begins tracing out the letters individually in the air for Ashton to see. A look of confusion crosses the noiret, and he squints his eyes as he watches Luke's finger dance across the air.

"...Vulce?"

Luke's eyebrows narrow, which receives a cheesy grin from Ashton.

"You're going too fast, mate," he chuckles. "I can't tell what you're spelling."

He tries again, slowing down his hands and waiting for Ashton to say the right letter before moving onto the next letter.

"L…U…K…E…" Each letter is pronounced slowly and with care, desperate to get the name correct. "Luke… Luke!" Luke nods, smiling with satisfaction. Ashton sighs, running his hand over his face. "Sorry, that was me being stupid. I can't read for shit." His laugh is pitched, very hyena-esque, and it is music to Luke's ears.

Ashton glances up the beach. Luke attempts to follow his gaze, but the sun makes it near impossible to see a far distance. He sees Ashton relax slightly as he lets out a heavy exhale, turning back to Luke. "Okay, Luke. How about I bring you 'round to my place?"

The question dumbfounds Luke, who simply stares at the man before him with utter disbelief. As if he is able to sense the doubt in his offer, Ashton elaborates.

"I know it's sudden, but come on, mate." Ashton motions to Luke. "You got nothing on you, no idea where you're from, and, honestly, I kinda want my shirt back." He smirks on the last comment, his tongue poking out between his front teeth. "Let me help you out, yeah?"

Luke is shocked by this stranger's kindness, considering the circumstances. Here he was, found on the beach undressed, a void where his memories should be, and unable to speak, being offered hospitality by a man whose shirt he is now wearing as a skirt. Though he hates to recognize his need for help, his legs feel ready to collapse at any moment and he has no idea where he is, nevermind what happened to him. If Ashton can be the hand that guides him to figuring things out, then it would be idiotic of Luke not to take it.

He nods his head, mouthing, "Thank you," with a smile forming across his lips. Luke runs a hand through his hair shyly, only to be left unimpressed by the sand that clings to the end of the hardened ringlets. He tilts his head back, bathing in the summer sky as he rapidly scratches at his scalp, feeling grains hit his sun-kissed skin like hail. His fingers get caught between strands and he winces at the roughness of each pull. Hair isn't supposed to feel like this, Luke muses. Hair has always been gentle and soft, something your fingers can grasp at effortlessly. It is supposed to shimmer and shine in the light, not harden like cheap plaster. If that is the case, then why, Luke wonders, did he receive the short end of the stick?

There are hands wrapping around his wrists, pulling them away from his head slowly. Pulled from his thinking, Luke notices the proximity between him and Ashton, and he inhales deeply. There's about a foot of space between the two, the only thing keeping them apart being their connected hands. Luke stares into the pools of amber in Ashton's eyes, which stare right back, enveloping them into a silence that Luke can't read. It leaves him nonplussed, completely enthralled, and he is helpless to pull away.

"Don't do that," Ashton commands, his voice stern, but comforting. "You can use the shower at mine. Scratching like that is bad for your head." He releases one of the wrists and takes a bit of Luke's hair between his fingers, making Luke's breath hitch. After a moment of analysis, he concludes, "It's probably from the water. It's got that ocean water feel to it, y'know?"

Luke has no memories of being in the water, nor any conclusion as to why he would have gone in there without clothes. While he could admit that he held confidence in his body, he wasn't the kind of person to bare himself to the ocean and all that inhabits it. A pit forms in his stomach, his insides churning at the thought of himself in the water, though he is not provided an explanation as to why he is reacting this way.

"Hey, you're going pale," Ashton warns, pressing his free hand to the side of Luke's neck. "You okay?"

Luke's eyes slip shut, but he nods, letting out short breaths that border on hyperventilation. He nearly falls into Ashton's hand, but is caught around the torso before he can hit the ground. Almost immediately, there's an arm wrapped around his waist and one of his own arms goes across Ashton's shoulders, keeping him upright. On wobbly legs he is forced to move to keep up with his protector's hurried walking. With every step his head aches with thoughts that he can't understand, memories that don't feel like his own. He hears Ashton mumbling to him, begging him to keep going. "We're almost to the car, come on. You gotta stay awake, Luke."

Under Luke's feet, hot sand turns into hot tar, and the smells of the shore seem to grow weaker the further they walk. Eventually, after an infinite amount of walking, he is helped up into a seat that burns from the sun's focus. As soon as he hears the door close, he leans against the window, the glass also serving to scorch his body. Everything, he notes, is fire to the touch, and it is the worst feeling to be complimenting his current state of health.

He quickly and weakly mouths, "Sorry," and is hastily responded to with, "Don't apologize, Luke, it's not your fault. Try to calm down, yeah? We'll be at the house in less than five."

As they drive, Luke can feel himself recovering from his sudden attack on his own person, and he no longer feels every inch of skin burning in the rays of the sun. It's a slow process, but effective nonetheless. He keeps his eyes closed, feeling the car's movements across the streets. Every minor bump in the road bounces the vehicle and rocks his body steadily like a transportable cradle. With each sway of his body, each smooth stretch of travel, he wills himself to stay awake; he's not going to disobey Ashton.

Ashton's house is a single-story with light pewter clapboard. The front of the house juts out, decorated with two large windowpane doors, both framed white. Next to each are windows that stretch just as high. On the two side rooms, there are singular windows with blue shutters lining their panels. The roof is a mesh of pyramids, one for each section of the house, made of grey slate. At the back, towering above it all, sits a picture-perfect chimney, appearing to have never been used. The front of the house is tied together with a cream porch with oak flooring and six short stairs, creating a pleasant, calming contrast to the seemingly achromatic exterior walls. Along the perimeter of the tiny building there are spherical bushes hiding whatever secret dents and bruises may be littering the base of the structure. Leading up to it is a sand walkway, a little more pleasing to the eye than the dirt road they drove on to get here. The entire building is picturesque, something straight out of a magazine, and Luke is utterly enchanted by it.

Luke is helped out of the car despite his initial rejection. He takes a moment to stand properly, shifting his weight slowly between each leg before determining that he is safe to walk. Ashton leads him up the stairs and into the small house, and Luke is pleasantly surprised by its immaculate state. The pearl countertops are spotless, and the porcelain sink lacks dishes and even food stains. The ivory couch and lounge chairs sitting near the back wall have their ocean-blue throw pillows placed neatly on the cushions, and a pale yellow fleece blanket drapes over the back of the couch. In front of it, the glass coffee table is cleared, and the wooden legs look glossy and new. Along the walls are decorations ranging from fishing nets to painting of the coastline, from wooden anchors and steering wheels to rainbow seashells. On either side of the room there is a door made from four wooden planks, woven together with blue rope and having a hole where the handle should be.

Upon shutting the door, Ashton pats Luke on the back, walking past him. "Come on, let's get you some normal duds, yeah?"

He follows Ashton through the door on the left, entering a bedroom with a very similar aesthetic to the living room and kitchen. The only difference is that this room has much more blue, to it; the doona, the pillows, the curtains, and even the knobs on the dresser and bedside cabinet all have a calming colour to their respective material. Luke watches Ashton open a few of the drawers up and pull out some cloth from each one, looking back every few seconds to examine Luke's body. Once he appears to be happy with his choices, he guides Luke back out into the main room and across to the next door.

Behind this one is a normal bathroom, only it seems to be much more sanitary in terms of appearance. Much like the rest of the house, there is a lack of soiling on anything, every object looking new to the touch. The shower is small, cylindrical, and built with stone tiles aligned on the inside. Underneath the showerhead are two knobs sitting in an upright position.

Ashton sets the duds on the corner of the sink before directing Luke's attention to the shower. "So, use the knob on the left to turn it on, and knob on the right for temperature. Turning it right makes it hotter." Luke raises an eyebrow, and Ashton shrugs, shaking his head. "I don't know, mate. I didn't make the thing. I don't know if my duds'll fit you, but I gave you sweats, if that's alright." Luke nods, mouthing a thank you. On that silent note Ashton turns on his heel, shutting the door and leaving Luke to his scattered thoughts.

He turns to look at himself in the glimmering mirror. Saying he looks dishevelled would be putting it nicely. He doesn't remember ever looking at himself and seeing such large bags under his eyes. His body is practically all bones, and his skin is deadly pale. It's alarming, so much so that he almost doesn't recognize himself. From the memories that shine through the clouded, he sees a better version of himself, handsome and well-constructed, complimented for his appearance. Vanity had nothing to do with it; it was the opinions of others that molded his confidence.

Luke sighs, nearly running his hand through his hair until he catches a glimpse at the sand grains and salt stuck in the strands, and groans in frustration. It only serves to remind him of his growing aggravation, the need for answers to a disorganized list of questions.

Discontent, he turns on the shower.


	2. Harry

He awakens to a light unlike any other, his body still.

The sound of steady beeping echoes through the air, monotone. In the distance, there are multiple voices and footsteps. Peeling his eyes open, he is met with white walls, furniture, a small machine sitting to his right. On the screen, there are lines and numbers that change every few seconds.

He goes to inhale, but feels something pinching his nose. When he tries to reach for it, there is a sharp pain in his forearm, and his eyes gaze down tiredly. A small tube is inserted into his skin, the entry wound hidden by a small white bandage. Around his wrist, he sees a paper bracelet. His eyes continue to examine his body, confusion growing with each new observation. There is a thin blanket laying across his body, covering everything aside from his feet, which are hidden by pale blue socks.

The feelings of being watched interrupts his investigation, and he turns to the side, blinking. His sudden paranoia was rightfully felt because staring at him in shock is a man he doesn't know, grasping onto the armrests of the tiny chair he resides in. His brown hair sweeps across his forehead, nearly long enough to hide his glistening ocean eyes.

"You're awake?" the man asks, nearly falling out of his chair with how far he's leaning forward, mouth agape.

"I think… Should I not be?"

The man shakes his head rapidly. "No, you should. You should be, just…" He exhales heavily, running a hand over the side of his face, briefly . "They weren't sure if you were gonna wake up at all. This is-- Fuck, right." The stranger launches out of the chair and practicality sprints towards a nearby button on the wall, slamming his hand against it.

Within seconds, a petite young lady enters, blonde hair put up into a neat bun. Her emerald eyes are accented with golden, glimmering eyeshadow, displaying her beauty even further. She wears light blue scrubs and holds a clipboard tight in her dainty hands. Attached to her shirt, there is a black name tag reading "Jeffard".

As soon as she walks through the door, a bright small crosses her face, and she approaches the bed confidently, pen waggling as she scribbles down a few notes. "Good morning, Harry," she says gently. 

"...Harry?"

The man across the room nods slowly, tensing the slightest. "Yeah, right? That's the name I told 'em."

Harry stares, utterly lost. He understands the words that are being told to him, but they don't truly mean anything to him. Every thought is accompanied by a foggy void, stretching infinitely in every direction. He repeats his name a few times mentally, but is unable to put a face to it. That being said, he isn't sure if that should terrify him, or if he should accept the information he is being told and move forward with it.

"Oh," he responds intelligently. He doesn't know what else he is supposed to say. "Harry" is just a name in his mind, not his own identity. "Okay. Well, thank you for telling them that."

His words must not have sounded confident, because he sees Jeffard's eyebrows lower slightly and she fixates her gaze on what she is writing. After a moment, there is a notable swoosh or her pen, and she clicks it closes, setting it, along with her clipboard, in a small, plastic pocket attached to the wall next to his head. She has to lean forward towards him to reach it, and as she soon as she comes closer, he flinches, cowering under the advantage she holds in their positions. His hands raise slightly and he winces, but he can't understand why he does so.

Jeffard's eyes glance towards him and her expression softens. "I'm sorry, I just had to put this in here." Immediately after doing so, she backs off, keeping a steady eye on him the whole time. Even after she creates some distance, Harry notices, he still feels uneasy, his entire body tense.

She shares a look with the unknown man behind her, and from what Harry can see on his face, it is not a pleased look. He bites down on his lips, and the inner edges of his eyebrows turn up in worry. Harry's heartbeat increases slightly, and he hears the monitor next to him speeding up to match. It feels like his entire body shifts with each pound against his ribcage.

"Harry, I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay? I'd like you to answer them the best you can, and if you can't think of an answer, please let me know." The order sounds daunting, but Harry still nods his head, his hesitancy written clearly on his face. His response is met with a kind grin.

"Okay. Harry, do you know your last name?" Harry shakes his head slowly. "Do you know how old you are?" He shakes his head again. "Do you know your address? What country you're in? Your friends and family?" Again.

Jeffard makes a clicking sound with her tongue. "Alright, I understand. Do you know where you are right now?"

"In the hospital," Harry answers impatiently. Nothing that the doctor says is giving him what he wants: information. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm very confused. I don't know where I am, or who I am, or why I'm in the bloody hospital."

Jeffard nods understandingly, something that almost seems insulting to Harry. "Okay, that is useful information to know in figuring out what's going on. We have to take things one at a time though." It's agitating to be told to take this kind of thing slow, but Harry agrees nonetheless.

It shatters his world when, after the doctor takes a long breath, he hears, "You've been in a coma for three days due to brain hemorrhage. You hit your head in the water after falling from the Urangan Pier."

Harry blinks, taking in the information at the speed of a snail. He doesn't know where that is, let alone how he could have fallen from it, but thinking about the "why" he fell sends a traumatizing thought onto his mind.

"...Did I—?"

"We don't know," she replies honestly, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. Outside of that, Harry, how did you know you were in the hospital?"

It's a fair question, but the answer doesn't come as easily as it should. It's not a matter of "because that's where you go when you're injured"; it's a matter of figuring out how he knows this without prior knowledge. He bites down on his lip, deep in thought, before carefully responding.

"I don't know. It's like… It's weird. I looked at everything around me, and it's like the word "hospital" popped up in my head. I didn't know why I was here, but I knew it was a hospital; I just don't know how I knew that." When he finishes speaking, he lets out a distressed laugh and shakes his head. "Sorry, that doesn't make sense."

"No, it does," he is reassured, met with a warming smile. Jeffard turns around to face the man in the corner of the room. Quite honestly, Harry forgot that the man was there, watching him intently with nervous eyes while constantly fidgeting his hands. The doctor beckons him over, and the man stands with trepidation, taking a few seconds to bring himself over. It's almost as if he is afraid, unsure of how to handle the lack of panic Harry radiates in this peculiar situation.

"Harry, do you know who this is?" Harry shakes his head, keeping his eyes locked on the stranger. He's handsome with his notably high cheekbones and beautifully sculpted face. His chin, jawline, and upper lip have light stubble, giving him a rougher yet eye-catching draw. He has a pale jean jacket over a plain white shirt, and black jeans with tears along the thighs. 

The man waves quickly before shoving his hand shyly into his pocket, glancing at his feet. "I'm Louis. Tomlinson." Silence, which is broken by a forced cough. "Um… I'm your best friend."

Harry chuckles, weakly raising an eyebrow at him. "You're awful nervous around me for my best friend."

"Can you blame me?" Louis replies, the corner of his mouth tugging up. "It's like you're meeting me for the first time. I have to make a good impression."

Harry stares at him, an unsure expression across his face. For a moment, while studying this gorgeous being, his best friend, the void in his mind clears.

Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ

"Hey, can you hear me?"

The bumps of the ambulance rock Harry's body, bright lights attempting to seal his eyes shut once again. His small, white-walled world doubles and warps, fading in and out of his sight.

Harry tries to nod his head, though he's unsure if he is successful in doing so: everything feels too out of balance. His head pounds wildly, blurring his vision with every aggressive pulse. He tries to reach up to massage his temples, but finds that his body is restrained. 

He sees the man in front of him, Louis, his mind supplies, leaning down to speak with him, eyebrows furrowed in worry. Most of the words that come out are lost in a sea of white noise, shrill and irritating to listen to. Suddenly, Louis pushes a few loose strands of hair out of Harry's face, but Harry's body is too exhausted to even flinch at the contact.

"Too much ocean water, mate," Louis mumbles, giving a half-hearted smile. "We can wash it out when we get to the hospital, yeah? You just gotta stay with us."

He tries, but Harry's eyes begin to slip shut again, throwing him forcefully back into a peaceful, heavy thumps turning into a blissful, long-lasting slumber. The last thing he sees is Louis leaning closer, eyes widened with panic, and Harry faintly hears begging spill from both of their lips.

Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ

Harry blinks, thinking on what he has suddenly recalled, and asks, "Did we clean my hair?"

Louis is clearly thrown off guard by the question, freezing on the spot. "Did we what?"

"In the ambulance," Harry explains slowly, uncertain of the foreign event his mind has provided. "You said we would when we got here."

It takes a moment for the recognition to enter Louis's eyes, but when it finally does, the smile that grows on his face is absolutely dazzling for Harry to witness. His teeth are perfect, shining like pearls, and slightly dimples form as his lips form into perfection. It has some kind of magnetic pull on Harry's focus, calling for his attention like a candle in the dark.

"I did, didn't I?" Louis doesn't sound at all confused, more relieved. Although, it is to be expected; Harry remembered something.

He's upset to see Louis's magnificent smile falter as he turns to look towards Dr. Jeffard. Harry forgot she was in the room. "What does it mean if he remembered something that recently happened?"

She bites on her upper lip, thinking. "I'm not entirely sure. Amnesia is not a predictable thing. Memories that come back may hold some kind of value to them depending upon the subject matter around the amnesiac, while others may be recalled without that same stimulation to the brain. It's possible that he may get his recent memories back before his older memories. The worst case scenario is that he'll forget the past decade of his last permanently."

"Last decade?" Harry repeats, raising his eyebrows. "How old am I?"

Jeffard shakes her head, shrugging her shoulders slightly and looking to Louis for help. After a moment of thought, he replies, "Twenty-four."

"Twenty-four," Harry repeats, nodding his head. "Well, how long have I known you?"

"Mmm...about seven years now?" The statement comes out as more of a question, followed by Louis chuckling nervously. "Sorry, I'm not the best with time. Feels like you've been in my life forever." This sentiment warms Harry's heart, sending a tranquil relaxation through his frail body. He may not remember Louis Tomlinson, but Louis Tomlinson remembers him, and that's more than enough for Harry to want to get to know everything about him and the relationship they had.

Behind Louis, he sees Jeffard is writing something on a whiteboard that hangs from the wall: "Amnesia". That's when Harry takes the time to read the information present on the board, filling in only a small fraction of the abyss that is his memory. It is June 20, 2018. He is in room 8124 of the Hervey Bay hospital. His nurse's name is Charlie, whose assistant is named Zoe. Dr. Jeffard's first name is Savannah. He is being given a bunch of medications that he can barely read the names of, let alone pronounce correctly. Their plan for him is to have him wake up, then evaluate his brain function to see if he's normal. When he reads his name, he nearly laughs at how fictional it sounds.

Harry Styles.


	3. Luke

Luke runs his fingers through his now-clean hair as he steps out of the bathroom, sweats covering his skin. His towel drapes over his arm, damp from use. He scans the living room for Ashton and finds him setting down a bowl, half filled with water, on his coffee table. Luke raises an eyebrow, confused, and approaches curiously. 

Ashton, after moving a few objects around, looks up and beams, sending warmth into Luke's already steamed body. "Looking better, mate. Glad the sweats fit you, I was worried they'd be a bit small."

Admittedly, they are a little small, the bottom hem of the sweatpants rising a bit above Luke's ankles and the white Queen shirt tight around his torso. Regardless, he's not going to complain. Instead, he points to the wet towel in his hands and gives a questioning look.

"I'll take care of it," Ashton says, gently pulling the soft fabric away from Luke. As he does so, he places a hand on Luke's shoulder and guides him towards the couch, commanding him to sit. Once he does so, Ashton carelessly tosses the towel onto one of the lounge chairs and joins Luke, shuffling closer so that the two are shoulder to shoulder.

Now that he is paying attention to it, Luke can see the objects sitting on the table more clearly. Before him, aside from the bowl, is a mug with a tea bag dipped in its water. Along with the liquids are three small candy-like objects in wrappers. Lozenges, Luke notes. Next to it all is a black spiral-bound notebook with a pencil sitting on the cover. 

He smiles and feels his face redden, humbled at the set up. As sweet as Ashton's intentions are, it still feels otherworldly that such kindness is being shown by a complete stranger, and that barrier is what keeps Luke from being able to feel completely at peace with everything Ashton does. Sad as it is, he is still waiting for the moment that Ashton throws him out, giving up on him and telling him to figure out his situation alone; it's a miracle, in Luke's eyes, that he's still here, being offered tea and medicine for his lost voice.

"I only have lemon cough drops," Ashton explains apologetically, "but lemon is good for your throat. The tea is also lemon, but it has honey and ginger root in it, too. Read somewhere that those can help you." He motions to the bowl of water. "I don't own a humidifier, so I tried to make the next best thing."

The gesture is almost adorable, and Luke flashes Ashton a gracious grin, mouthing, "Thank you." In response, Ashton leans forward to grab one of the lozenges, offering it to Luke. The sour taste of lemon combined with the sweetness of honey sends a wonderfully therapeutic coolness down his scratchy throat. He presses it against the roof of his mouth, sucking on the flavour and savouring it as long as humanly possible. Never would Luke have thought such satisfaction would come from something as simple as a cough drop, yet here he is, eye closed as he laps up the dissolving tablet.

When he opens his eyes, Ashton is staring at him incredulously, both brows raised in surprise. When Luke connects Ashton's expression to what was happening, he can't help but laugh, only it comes out shrill and nearly deprived of sound. He slams his hand over his mouth, face turning red in embarrassment, which is only worsened by Ashton's chuckling.

"Mate," Ashton says, attempting to give a straight face, "you can't make that kind of face while eating a cough drop. You're gonna ruin cough drops for everyone."

Luke, sensing the playful tone in the atmosphere, decides to match Ashton's humor. In a moment of confidence, he picks up the notebook from the table and flips it open to the first page, which is surprisingly blank. He clicks open the pen and, upon hearing that very sound, his courage dwindles. 

He doesn't know why, but the thought of a sex joke makes him uneasy. It's paradoxical, because he has plenty of memories of using this humour before, his childish side kicking in whenever he hears it. The two are polar opposite, his feelings and his memories, and he is left to wonder why they are so contradictory. 

His frustration grows as he tries to decide which to trust more, his mind or his heart, the joyful or the anxious. It doesn't take long to choose which he favours, and in messy letters, he scribbles into the notebook, 'The feeling of honey and lemon on a dry throat is orgasmic.'

He shows it to Ashton, biting his lip to suppress the nerves that are building. It takes Ashton a second to read it, but soon, his laughter fills the air, and its gorgeous melody floats into Luke's ears once again.

"Damn, never knew cough drops were such an effective kink," Ashton teases. He reaches to grab the cup of tea, holding it out to Luke with a smirk. "This has honey and lemon in it, too. Don't get all hot and bothered a second time." 

Luke rolls his eyes, biting his tongue between his teeth as he smiles. He is told to lean back on the couch, and he obeys, sinking snugly into the soft cushions. Once he is comfortable, the yellow blanket from the back of the couch is laid across his lap, and the bowl of hot water is placed gently on his protected thighs.

"There you go," Ashton declares, sounding proud of himself. "Riding the road to recovery." 

Luke takes a sip of the tea, enjoying the ginger that was added to the flavouring. The drink as a whole is not as fulfilling as the lozenges, but it still does wonders to his throat, making it feel a bit less desiccated. The warm feels weird, used to iced tea, but it's not entirely unfavoured. After downing about half the mug, he sets it down and reaches for the notebook once again, quickly writing out a message.

Ashton watches him, and responds before Luke can finish the note. "That's right. I forgot about your memory." He runs his hand through his black locks. "Well, what do you wanna know? I don't know what you're missing up there."

'I don't know where we are. I don't know where I came from or what happened to me.' He pauses for a moment, hesitating to write, before adding, 'I don't 

Ashton bites his lip, tilting his head in thought before carefully forming a handful of answers. "Okay. Well, I can't say much regarding the last two, since I've only just met you this morning. But I can tell you, we're in Eurong." Luke raises an eyebrow. "Eurong is a town on Fraser Island. Not many of us live here, so you've probably never heard of it. Lots of resort stuff here though."

'What day is it?'

Ashton immediately replies, surprising Luke. "June 20, 2018."

The date strikes a chord in Luke's mind. For a moment, the clouds clear, and like a knife through the skin, harsh and unwanted, a memory makes itself known.

Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ

Luke stares at his house, absolutely floored. He had arrived to see his front door wide open, no cars or moving trucking to be seen. The shape, color, and size of the house morph in his vision, his mind unsure of how he wants it to look. Shaking his head in disbelief, he climbs out of his car and marches up to the door, grasping the doorway and peering impatiently into his new home. He sees nothing, but he's fueled by rage, his hands tensing painfully and his body shaking with anger. After a moment, he spins around and makes his way back to his car, kicking the tire with all of his adrenaline-made strength. He yanks the door open, plops down in the driver's seat, and locks himself in his vehicle. He tries to cool down, but ends up punching his steering wheel only moments later, the horn blaring into the night.

Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ

"Hey, Luke. You okay, mate?" Ashton is shaking his shoulder, staring with concerned eyes. "What's going on?"

Luke takes no time to snatch up the pen and chicken scratch his answer into the notebook, thrusting it into Ashton's hands. On the paper, he writes, 'I think I just moved. I was in a house I don't recognize very well and I remember being surprised that there were no moving trucks. I was angry when I walked in but I don't know why."

Ashton scans the note slowly, soaking in every word. As he gets further into it, Luke watches his face morph into confusion, eyebrows lowering with every word. Thinking on it, it's a bit cryptic, serving as a faucet for more questions than answers. It doesn't shock Luke that Ashton is a bit skeptic of his memory.

"Okay," Ashton drags out, seemingly gathering his thoughts. "I understand, I think. I don't know what happened, but I think we can figure it out. Can we go back to your old house, maybe?"

Luke shakes his head rapidly. Then he stops, puzzled. It wasn't a voluntary answer, forced out like he is a puppet on a masked man's strings. He can't put his finger on why he can't return to his old home. In fact, he knows exactly where it is and what it looks like, from the tattered shingled roof to the lounge walls decorated with disgustingly ugly floral wallpaper. It was an old, cheap house that only had one bedroom and bathroom, and the kitchen was so compact it was a miracle that Luke could fit in it at all. He lived there for two years, and the address lights up in his mind, vivid even through the clouds of his brain.

And yet, thinking of it churns his stomach, and sends whatever contents it holds up through his esophagus. He covers his mouth, hoping to stop it, but realizes fast that it's too late, looking down at the bowl in front of him. Barely anything comes out of him, a grotesque liquid mix of tea and yellow bile. Already out of things to vomit, his body dry heaves heavily, goosebumps running along his skin. Cold sweat starts to form along his curls as tears gather in his eyes.His hair is held back from his face while a hand rubs light circles into his back, trying to calm down his shaking figure. Everything strains and tenses beyond his control, and he begs for whatever the cause of this all is to have mercy.

After a few painful minutes, he recovers and leans back into the couch with newfound exhaustion, eyes slipping shut. Ashton grabs the bowl out of his lap, setting it carefully on the table. The mug of tea is held out to him and, after reassuring himself that it's not gonna happen again, he takes it and nearly chugs it down to rid the taste of sickness from his mouth. It is replaced with soothing honey, lemon, and ginger, enough of a change to his palette to make him feel better. 

"I'm sorry, Luke." Ashton takes the empty cup away and sets it elsewhere. Luke feels a hand on his knee, and Ashton suddenly sounds much closer, voice tainted with guilt. "I didn't know. I couldn't have known. I'm sorry."

Luke shakes his head, trying his best to beam through his mysterious franticness. "It's okay," he mouths. He sets his trembling hand on the already present one, grasping it lightly in an attempt to comfort. Ashton shouldn't feel sorry for something he couldn't have known; that's like apologizing for not knowing the name of a complete stranger. 

They stay like this until Luke is calm enough to open his eyes, and he turns his head weakly to look at Ashton. Those beautiful hazel pools are so full of concern and culpability, making the indents of his wrinkles more prominent. He's not frowning, but it's clear from the twitching of his mouth that he's struggling to keep a neutral expression. 

Luke tightens his grip slightly, staring deeply into Ashton's eyes, and with a genuine, heartfelt grin, mouths, "I promise."

Still looking unsure, Ashton mumbles through a half-hearted smile, "Okay, you promise."

A silence envelops them, offering comfort and tranquility. Their hands stay interlaced with each other, an understood oath that the stormy sea around them has settled. It's almost as if the world has stood still, Father Time freezing it just for the two of them. It's these moments that make Luke remember his belief in faith, that all things happen for a reason. And with this belief always standing strong in his heart, Luke can't help but wonder why, of all the people living on Earth, Fate decided to give him the gift of this beautiful, philanthropic man: Ashton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be editted a little later, probably to fix some grammar and/or correct some wording. Don't want to create plot holes this early. Thank you for reading!


	4. Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, CALM sent me for a loop. I absolutely love it. Red Desert and Lonely Heart are such bops, and Thin White Lies is oddly relaxing. Lover of Mine makes me so emotional. Best Years and High, though literally opposites, are nice to listen to when I'm writing these stories. Not In The Same Way was a horrifying but beautiful story to listen to. I love this album

With each minute that goes by, the room feels more and more compact, clean white walls beginning to look more like iron bars. The past few days have been rainy, hiding the blue sky behind an ugly layer of grey. As droplets pelt against the window, Harry stares up at the ceiling, counting the tiles and reaching a grand total of three hundred and twelve for the fourth time today.

Doctor Jeffard told him that he was recovering rather well under the circumstances, the only notable negative being his memory loss. Otherwise, he seems perfectly fit. He was told he would have to remain in the hospital until the twenty-fifth, and it is only the twenty-third. If any other concerning symptoms arise over that period of time, he will have to stay longer, and Harry will absolutely lose his head.

Every day, Louis has visited Harry in the hospital to talk with him, filling him in on the details he can't find a trace of in his mind. He was born near Manchester, England, but Louis can't remember the exact name of the town he's from. He is an only child. He studied literature in university while Louis studied marine biology. He and Louis met when Louis still lived in England. Louis had gone down to the London area to visit family, running into Harry on the train heading that direction. They kept in touch, eventually living together in Manchester up until Louis was offered a job in Urangan.

The reason Harry is visiting is because he has an assignment for his literature course: take an aspect of any of the books they've read in class this year and get information on this aspect from a professional. For example, they read Sun, Moon, and Talia by Giambattista Basile, one of the stories that inspired Disney's Sleeping Beauty. Before making it to Australia, Harry had, apparently, called Louis and said that a young girl in his class was going to talk to a doctor about the idea of giving birth in your sleep, such as Talia had in the story. The idea of having children like this horrified Harry, but upon being told this, he could admit that it was an interesting topic.

Harry is writing his paper on The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen. His topic is simply on how scientists view the mythology of mermaids, and what they've seen or studied to make them form their opinion. It's not the most creative base for a college essay, but it gave Harry an excuse to see Louis, so he took it, staying abroad for three weeks to gather information.

When Louis shows up for his daily visit, he comes in carrying a small notebook, the cover decorated hideously in pink sequins. Harry shakes his head disapprovingly and chuckles when Louis sets it down in Harry's lap, childlike excitement twinkling in his eyes. Harry takes a moment to note the large black hoodie and dark blue jeans that Louis models, a much more casual look that Harry finds rather suitable. Seeing these comfortable clothes only makes the hatred for his hospital gown grow stronger.

"This is adorable," Harry comments, picking up the notebook and tilting it, letting the hospital lights reflect off the cover. "Very sparkly."

"I had an idea last night," Louis explains. "You probably have questions about yourself that you want to ask, but I'm not here to answer them. So, in order to help you keep track of them all…" He slaps his hand on the cover, the loud thwack making Harry jump.

Harry nods, running his finger along the spine of the book. It's a nice gesture, something he didn't realize he needed until it was given to him. He can't help but chuckle, however, every time he looks at the front of the notebook. He can almost feel Louis's presence in it, as if Louis embedded a little of himself into each sparkling disk.

"Thank you," Harry simpers, grasping the book tighter. He sets it down on his lap, a thought coming to mind. "Speaking of questions, may I ask something kinda weird?"

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Go ahead."

It's a weird request, Harry is aware, but he's so sick and tired of being chained to a bed that he's willing to do anything for entertainment, no matter how mundane it may be to anyone else.

"Can you tell me the story of The Little Mermaid?" He practically vomits the words with how fast they spill from his mouth.

Louis blinks, registering the task he has been giving, before shrugging his shoulder, perching on the very edge of Harry's hospital bed. "I can, yeah. Why that one?"

"That's the book I'm doing my college paper on, right?" Harry asks, suddenly unsure. He scans Louis's face for reassurance.

Instead, he receives a light chuckle, Louis glancing away briefly. "I forgot. Yeah, I can tell you the story. Do you remember any of it?" Harry shakes his head. "Okay, well…"

"The Little Mermaid lived in an underwater kingdom with her father and her older sisters. When a mermaid turns fifteen, she's able to swim to the surface for the first time to look at the human world. When the sisters become old enough, each of them visits the human world. When they come back, the Little Mermaid listens to their stories and eventually becomes obsessed with wanting to see the human world.

"When the Little Mermaid's turn comes, she rises up to the surface, and she sees a birthday party being held on a ship in honor of a handsome prince, and she falls in love with him. A violent storm sinks the ship, but the Little Mermaid saves the prince from drowning, carrying his unconscious body to the shore near a temple. She waits until a young woman from the temple and her ladies in waiting find him. Unfortunately for the Little Mermaid, the prince never sees her or realizes that she had saved his life.

"The Little Mermaid becomes depressed after these events. Eventually, she asks her father if humans can live forever. Her father says that humans don't live nearly as long as mermaids do. When mermaids die, they turn to sea foam and cease to exist, whereas humans have an eternal soul that lives on in heaven. The Little Mermaid, longing for the prince and an eternal soul, visits a Sea Witch in a dangerous part of the ocean. The Sea Witch helps her by selling her a potion that gives her legs in exchange for her tongue and voice. The Little Mermaid has the most enchanting voice in the world, and the Sea Witch wanted this to herself. Before the Little Mermaid agrees, the witch warns her that once she becomes a human, she will never be able to return to the ocean. She will have two human legs and will be able to dance like no human has ever danced before. However, she will constantly feel as if she is walking on sharp knives. As well as this, she will gain the soul she wants only if she wins the love of the prince and marries him. Otherwise, at dawn on the day that he marries another human, the Little Mermaid will die with a broken heart and dissolve into sea foam in the water.

"The Little Mermaid agrees, swims up to the surface near the prince's castle, and drinks the potion. She passes out on the steps of the prince's palace, naked. She is found by the prince, who is mesmerized by her beauty even though she is mute. Most of all, he likes to see her dance, and she dances for him despite suffering terrible pain with every step. Soon, the Little Mermaid becomes the prince's favorite companion and accompanies him nearly everywhere. However, when marriage is mentioned, the prince tells the Little Mermaid he will not marry a princess because he is in love the young woman from the temple, who he believes rescued him. The prince declares his love for her, and the royal wedding is announced at once.

"The prince and temple woman celebrate their new marriage on a wedding ship, and the Little Mermaid's heart breaks. She despairs, thinking of the death that awaits her, but before dawn, her sisters rise out of the water and bring her a dagger that the Sea Witch has given them in exchange for their hair. If the Little Mermaid kills the prince and lets his blood drip on her feet, she will become a mermaid once more and she will live out her full life in the ocean with her family.

"However, the Little Mermaid cannot bring herself to kill the prince and she throws the dagger and herself off the ship into the water just as dawn breaks. Her body dissolves into foam, but instead of ceasing to exist, she feels the warm sun and discovers that she has turned into an earthbound spirit, a daughter of the air. As the Little Mermaid ascends into the atmosphere, she is welcomed by other daughters who tell her she has become like them because she strove with all her heart to obtain an immortal soul. Because of her selflessness, she is given the chance to earn her own soul by doing good deeds for mankind, and will one day rise up into Heaven.

"That's the story of The Little Mermaid," Louis finishes, looking rather proud of himself. Harry stares, completely enthralled by the tale. It's a strange but empowering story, one that gives a new burst of life. After hearing it for what seems like the first time, he can understand why this was the story he chose to write his paper on; it's a masterpiece.

The clouds part momentarily, and for a moment, Harry sees a young lady with red hair dressed in blue clothes, sitting in a boat with a handsome noiret. Around them, flower-laced vines are parted, a melody playing in the background as the two draw closer together. All those around them lean in expectantly on the edge of their seat. Just as their lips are about to touch, they are thrown into the water, romantic intimacy grounded roughly to a halt.

Now Harry is confused. "Isn't the Disney version different?" Harry inquiries. "I thought movie adaptations were supposed to be true to the story."

Louis answers immediately, eyes sparkling. He seems pleased that Harry remembers this.

"It stays true for the most part," Louis explains. "The part with the party ship and it sinking stayed, and with the mermaid saving the prince. Then the part with the mermaid selling her voice for legs--"

Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ

The night air is stagnant, the overpowering presence of salt water filling the atmosphere. Harry sighs, laying on the sand with heaving breaths. His lower body tingles, almost burns as it gains feeling once more. Eventually he can feel his legs, moving them tenderly to avoid strain. Everything feels sore and tight, full of unwanted knots.

Harry stares up at the night while he waits for his legs to regain the rest of their mobility. The sky is clear, stars aligning to form thousands upon thousands of different shapes and symbols. His eyes are drawn to those that appear to be the largest, their light overpowering that of the stars around them. It's like a battle for attention, the need to outshine everyone else and gain the focus of the world. He is ecstatic to see it, the feeling of freedom overwhelming his being.

When Harry finally rises, he can't help but stumble, planting his numb feet harshly into the sand to stabilize his wobbling legs. Wet hair presses against his forehead and he combs his fingers through it, pushing back what he can to give him better vision.

Through that better vision, a figure stands a grand total of twenty feet away, jaw dropped and frame shaking. Their eyes are bugged out, like they had seen a phantom. The reaction makes Harry's heart rate increase drastically, and his body trembles in fear.

On shaking legs, he takes off running, afraid of what the stranger may have seen.

Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ

"--but the prince doesn't fall in love…with her… Harry, are you there?"

Harry stares ahead, completely thrown. His whole body feels tense, unwanted anxiety pulsing through his veins. There is so much to process, but no amount of time could be enough to figure out the contents of the memory. It's so sudden, so different from the one he had before, from him and Louis in the ambulance. It makes him wonder why he was so terrified when he saw that stranger, why he was in the ocean at all.

"You okay?" Louis prys, gripping lightly onto the hospital blanket covering Harry.

Harry doesn't give any sort of response, unsure of how he feels. He thought that remembering things was supposed to be good, that it was supposed to help him regain a sense of himself and his life around him that he lost. Instead, the one memory that holds any kind of information on his life from before the accident is enigmatic.

"I don't…" Harry falters, trying to form the words. "I remember something, but… I don't understand anything."

Louis bites the side of his inner cheek, nodding slowly. "That makes sense, that it would seem outlandish to you. Dr. Jeffard explained it to me. Your memories may come back in a strange order, and many may not even start from the beginning." He places his hand gently over Harry's, running his thumb over the no-longer tanned skin. It's gentle, comforting to Harry's racing mind and allowing him to breathe.

However, all of that calmness vanishes when Louis asks Harry something that practically sucks the air from his body:

"Harry, do you believe in mermaids?"


	5. Luke

The car bumps along the dirt roads heading to the west side of the island, the destination being the ferry dock. After five days of strength regaining and voice recovery, Luke and Ashton have decided to take the ferry to River Heads and drive to Urangan, where Ashton goes to visit friends. Today, however, they are visiting with the intention of buying some new bandages for Luke's torn leg.

During one of his longer showers, the scabs fell off the three cuts he mysteriously obtained, opening the wounds once more and causing blood to trail down his skin and into the drain. He hadn't even noticed it at first, not until he stepped out of the shower and had walked out of the bathroom to meet Ashton's horrified face. Instantly, Luke was pulled back into the bathroom and Ashton was ripping open the medicine cabinet, commanding Luke to sit on the lid of the toilet. Soon his leg was clear of blood, bandages wrapped securely around the gashes.

“That’s my only roll,” Ashton had commented. “They’re not gonna last very long, and we’re not risking an infection.”

Now, after about fifty minutes of driving, Ashton’s carmine Mitsubishi joins the line of cars that are slowly making their way onto the ferry. Luke pushes himself up slightly in his seat to see over the minivan in front of them, catching a glimpse at the boat. The tall white walls are accented with aquamarine paint. He can see a section of the ship has another story to it, and a few people stand against its railings, watching the rest of the vehicles climb aboard. In Luke’s lifetime, he can’t remember ever riding a ferry, and the idea of doing so gives him childlike excitement.

“...lon...ll…ake?” Luke coughs into his arm, throat scratchy and raw. His voice is getting better, but the rasp that overbears his words makes it near impossible to form a complete sentence. It makes his voice sound much deeper than it should be, and his accent sounds mutilated.

Lucky for him, Ashton seems to have become an expert in understanding what Luke is trying to say. “Takes about half an hour if the waters are calm.”

As they drive up onto the boat, employees simply waving them on, taps Ashton’s arm with a raised eyebrow. “Ticket?” he mouths.

“You purchase tickets to get to Fraser Island, not to leave,” Ashton explains. “The company is rather laid back considering that I live in Eurong. It’d be different if I were a tourist. If I showed them my license before boarding, they’d let me on.” He gives a playful smirk. “But you don’t have to do that when you’re friends with the family that runs the service.”

It doesn’t surprise Luke at all that Ashton has that kind of connection. The man radiates charm that pulls others in like a magnet, and the pearly smile he flashes makes it all the more effective. Perhaps that’s the reason why Luke has been staying with Ashton this past week, more than overstaying his welcome. The two have managed to grow closer in the amount of time they spend together. Ashton goes to work in the evening, coming home early in the morning with plenty of exhaustion, sleeping in until roughly noon. Luke makes the two of them lunch, always hesitant on what to make due to the food in the house not belonging to him. Thankfully, Ashton doesn’t see a problem with it and is more than gracious to wake up with something delicious prepared. As they eat, Ashton talks and Luke writes, each one learning more about the other after sifting through the sarcasm, jokes, and innuendos. It’s almost frightening how quickly the two of them connect, as if they are brothers. 

Ashton is twenty-three years old, working as a bartender at the beach bar at Eurong Beach Resort. He grew up in Melbourne as an only child and dropped out of highschool at the age of seventeen. After a year, he left home and placed the label of “vagabond” over his head, getting to know the coasts of Australia. Eventually, he befriended the owners of the ferry service in River Heads, and they took him on a ride to Fraser Island, where he met the owner of Eurong’s resort. The two shared a connection, and Ashton was offered a job. For a short while, he was offered residence in the owner’s home, and he built up enough of a fund to buy the house he owns today.

Thinking back on his own life, Luke can see the similarities that he and Ashton share; maybe that understanding is what made them click. Luke grew up in Sydney with a single mother, his father dying of a heart attack when Luke was only eight. His mother was constantly working to support them, and the two rarely saw each other, Luke practically raising himself. When he graduated, his grades weren’t nearly high enough to get him a decent scholarship, and he knew that paying to get in would drive him and his mother into the ground. As such, he lived at home for two years and picked up a guitar, writing music and performing locally as a source of revenue. Eventually, he purchased his own apartment and began working at a music store down the street. As of recently, he moved out of his abode and to a new place, a small place that he can call home.

As for what happened that caused him to move and where this new home actually is, his mind seems to want to keep that a secret.

The car lurches to a stop and Ashton pulls the key out of the ignition, giving Luke a prideful smile. “We’re in. Mission accomplished, mate."

Luke rolls his eyes, flipping down the mirror in front of him to fix a few loose waves of hair. He runs his hand through it, combing it back, and is satisfied when it all remains out of his face. Maybe, Luke hopes, Ashton will let him buy a few hair elastics to help keep his locks at bay.

Something malicious rushes through Luke as soon as he opens his door. The boat rocks steadily in the water, occasionally thrown off rhythm by rougher waves. It’s exactly what he expected, the very feeling he has been wanting to experience. But now that he’s here, about to step onto the ferry with his own two feet, his excited butterflies are leaving his stomach and flying into his lungs. They pound against his chest and make his heart rate skyrocket. They run down his nerves and force his body to tremble. Only moments ago, he was ready to adventure to the mainland of Australia with Ashton; now he’s sitting here with his hands in tight fists, staring at the boat’s floor as his entire being is taken over by a bunch of vicious butterflies.

“Luke, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

He didn’t even realize Ashton was talking to him, nor that he was still in the vehicle. Hell, he hadn’t even noticed the gentle hand placed on Luke’s shoulder from behind. It’s moments like these that frustrate Luke; no normal person has to deal with randomly spawning fear, or things that his body seems to react to while he himself is completely in the dark. There’s always an answer for “what” is happening, but he can never get the answer for “why” it’s happening.

“Luke.” Ashton’s voice is stern, completely different from what Luke has heard from him thus far. He usually speaks with lightheartedness and sarcasm, smiling more than Luke has ever seen anyone smile in his life. This sudden change is startling enough to snap Luke out his fearful daze and he looks over his shoulder.

Ashton stares at Luke, and suddenly Luke feels childish for acting so irrational. “I know you’re afraid,” Ashton acknowledges, speaking calmly and clearly, “and I want to help you. I need you to tell me what is scaring you, Luke.”

Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ

Tears flood Luke’s eyes and stream violently down his face, blocking his vision. He slides his back down his door, hands pulling at his tangled mess of hair. The scent of saltwater whirls around the room and taunts him endlessly. He feels nothing but pain on every inch of his body, enhanced as his entire being shakes uncontrollably. Every breath feels laboured and strangled, like the oxygen that should be entering his lungs is trying to asphyxiate him instead.

On gelatin legs, he forces himself off the floor and staggers to the windows, yanking the curtains closed. Just before they shut out the night sky, he catches sight of the moon reflecting against the ocean water, calling him back. It makes him feel ill, so much that it emulates the feeling of dying. Maybe, he begins to think, death would be better than having to go through this, having to look outside at the sea that he once adored, somewhere he once could call a place of happiness; it’s disgusting how quickly your perception of love and hatred can be flipped. 

He makes his way over to the lounge, practically collapsing into the soft cushions of the sofa. His legs burn with recollection, and Luke can’t help but scratch at them ruthlessly, begging for all the suffering to disappear. The voices in his head won’t give him time to process the events, and as such, he decides to cope with the situation the only way he knows how: music.

Faster than he ever has before, he picks up a random scrap of paper off his coffee table and a pen with little ink left in it. Half of what he writes comes out clearly while the other half is impressed in the paper, nearly ripping it with how hard he pushes down the pen. The words flow out effortlessly, each line tear-stained and screaming out the agony that Luke can’t seem to scream out for himself. 

“He’s ripping his skin and his heart out with it, hoping it’ll ease his brain.  
But his stomach still churns and his heart is still hurt, so I'm numbing out all the pain.  
He’s tearing at his hair, self-beating till bones will break.  
Plugging his ears. He never wants to hear again.  
Every move he makes, how his body burns from the unloved memories he didn’t deserve.  
So I’m tearing him down and numbing out all the pain.”

He will never enter the water again.

Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ+Ψ

“Luke, please, talk to me,” Ashton begs. 

Luke blinks a few times, pulling himself out of the painful memory. He has no idea what it was, no context provided, but it’s enough to give him some kind of explanation for why he was suddenly afraid. The lyrics he wrote were odd, talking about himself as if he is two separate people. One of him sounds small and scared, destroying themselves as a way to handle their frustration, while the other is trying to save him. Or maybe trying to hide him, pretending that part of him doesn't exist, the part that believes that tearing yourself apart with pure and raw despair is better than whatever pain you went through to cause it. 

He looks up at Ashton and guilt overwhelms him. The noiret’s eyes are glistening with frustration and concern, and the hand that is sitting on Luke's shoulder is slightly trembling. Luke had dove so deep into his mind that he had completely disregarded the man who was trying to help him. This whole time, Luke had been panicking in silence, leaving Ashton to ask questions and receive no replies. Empathy takes hold of Luke fast, and his body moves without thought.

Luke gently grasps the hand sitting on his shoulder and cradles it in his own, resting them on the centre console. With his free hand, he rubs his eyes, unaware that he had been crying. He takes a deep breath, focusing all his energy on regaining his rationality. His worry for Ashton overpowers the fear he was feeling before, allowing his body to calm itself much faster than he had been expecting.

Once he feels okay, he speaks up, saying as much as he can through strangulated words. "...sorr…s...red y…shton."

Ashton chuckles half-heartedly, glancing away sheepishly. It surprises Luke that he was able to properly translate that shattered sentence. "I wasn't scared, Luke. I was worried." He pauses, furrowing his eyebrows before correcting, "Well, actually, yeah. I was scared. You were really far gone and you weren't answering me. Suddenly you were crying and I just…" He shrugs, defeated. "I didn't know how to help you."

The admission both warms Luke's heart and tightens it painfully. "...embered s...ing."

"What did you remember?" Ashton pries.

He should have hesitated with the idea of sharing such a personal memory, but the words fall out of his mouth without much thought. He owed it to Ashton to tell him what was wrong.

Knowing it'll be impossible to explain through speech, he opens the glove box and pulls out a piece of paper, looking around for something to write with. Ashton seems to understand and brandishes a pen from the centre console, waiting impatiently for the silent man to write out the details of his memory. 

When Luke finishes scribbling the story, leaving out the lyrical bit, he hands the paper to Ashton. Luke had tried to write it as tame as possible, keeping the details to a minimum. Even so, Ashton's expression grows sad as he reads, his head nodding rhythmically. The gears in his head are clearly turning and Luke watches with baited breath, anxiously waiting for a response.

To the surprise of Luke, Ashton turns away, climbs out of the car, and shuts the door carefully. For a brief moment, he's afraid that Ashton has grown too upset to be in the same space as Luke, that he is walking away after hearing such a vulnerable story. He's relieved when instead of leaving, Ashton maneuvers his way around the Mitsubishi and over to Luke's side. He places a hand on the framing of the open door and extends a hand out, offering it to Luke.

"Wh… re y…ing?" Luke puzzles, though he doesn't really need to ask. He knows exactly what's happening, and he's not a fan of it.

"You don't want to stand on the boat because of the water, right?" Ashton checks. "Because you're afraid you'll fall in? That's okay. I'll keep you stable, that way you don't fall."

Luke gives Ashton an unsure look. Having a human as support on that water is worse than on grabbing a railing, but that little irrational part of his brain prays that Ashton has enough strength to support them both. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Ashton was pulling his leg, making fun of him for a fear he can't place reasoning behind. However, the soothing expression he has on his face appears to be genuine, and Luke feels reassured about his unease.

The moment he is on his feet, Ashton's arms are wrapped around him, keeping his body steady as the tide gently rocks the boat. Luke's arms immediately lock around Ashton's neck and he doesn't dare to open his eyes. His body tremors as he buries his face into Ashton's shoulder, nerves running through his body like electricity. His breaths are shaky, but not enough to where it's worrisome.

"Look at you, mate," Ashton whispers, tightening his protective grip. "Facing your fears like this. Proud of you."

Luke’s face heats up with embarrassment. Showing so much vulnerability around someone you've just met should be considered a crime. Within five days, it feels like Luke has let a complete stranger into his fortress, past every guard he ever put at post. Weary and secretive are two of Luke’s strongest descriptors, his self-preservation making him afraid to let down his walls for anyone and everyone. His life is built on the foundation of taking care of yourself, for you are the only person there for you; letting people in only leads to pain. 

And yet, here he is, wearing his emotions on his sleeve and doing nothing to hide them.


End file.
